Diary of a Thousand Names
by SerenLyall
Summary: A collection of oneshots regarding characters throughout all of Tolkien's Legendarium, spanning from before the First Age through the Fourth. Chapter 4: Griknash the Orc; Chapter 5: Galadriel. (Silmarillion knowledge helpful, though not necessary)
1. Vaire

**Disclaimer: **So unfortunately, we're supposed have these things on here. So here is mine. I don't own Lord of the Rings or any of Tolkien's Legendarium. So don't sue. Capiche? Capiche.

**Rating:** K+. Rated K+ because I don't know why, I just think it should be PG. *shrugs*

**Time frame:** The time frame of this collection will range from before time begins, to quite possibly after time ends. So there will be an additional time frame disclaimer at the beginning of each chapter. For this chapter, please see below :)

**Time frame (chapter):** before time. ;)

**A/N:** First off: Feel free to skip around chapters, and most especially over this chapter if you haven't ever read the Silmarillion. Because if you haven't, then this chapter probably won't make much sense...

Okay, so it's been a long time since I have updated . Oops. Yeah, my bad. Anyway, I'm working on a bit of everything, but nothing is done. Never fear, updates for everything are on their way. I promise you. Seriously. I promise. I've been away at home for spring break, which was awesome and fun, but more than a bit crazy and busy. Thus, while I had a little bit of time to write, it wasn't enough to really do a whole lot. Sooo...to boil it all down, I decided to dredge up some of my character oneshots. As an admin on a facebook page dedicated to Tolkien's Legendarium (the page is called "Arda: A World of Epic Adventures. You should go like it ;)), I put out a request for any characters, and I would write oneshots for them. I have like five written thus far. And I plan on finishing all that were asked, and then I will open up the request box (aka PM/reviews) for all of you as well.

I have no predetermined update schedule for these. So basically, if you want more soon, then review. In the case of this fic, updates are fed by reviews. So review. Sound good? Good. :) And yes, I'm blackmailing you. And no, I feel no guilt. (Okay, so maybe a little bit of guilt...) Really, though, I hope that you enjoy this. (And don't worry, A/N won't normally be as long as this, because most of these vignettes are super duper short. :))

* * *

_~Vaire~_

"So you intend to go to The World That Will Be?"

Vaire looked up from the small scrap of cloth that she held in her lap, tiny threads of silver winking into existence beneath her skimming, coaxing finers. The tall, beautiful Ainu standing before her looked troubled, his dark hair framing a pale face and gleaming, golden eyes.

"Yes." Vaire's voice was softy as she replied, and she smiled gently up at the greatest of her brethren.

"Why?" Melkor's voice was cold now, and layered with a hint of bitter anger.

"My heart belongs to one who will not be swayed," was Vaire's reply. "I will not be parted from Namo...I cannot. And the Children - their lives, their histories - fascinate me."  
Melkor's face darkened. "The Children," he mused, and for an instant Vaire thought that she could hear a sneer in his voice. But then the tone was gone, and Melkor's face lightened with a small smile.

"Perhaps you are right," he finally agreed. His smile grew as he gazed down at the Weaver, and his eyes gleamed. "I shall see you soon, Mistress Weaver," Melkor murmured, bowing ever so slightly to her.

As his presence faded, Vaire looked down at the cloth that she held.

A chill swept through her as she beheld the shape that dominated the center of the cloth - a shape that she had not though to create. It was a mountain, impossibly tall and imposing, its base surrounded by crashing waves and its tip crowned in blazing flames.

With a quick movement, Vaire dashed away the shape, sending the threads scattering and dissolving into glittering dust.

But the image remained with her, burned into her mind. And she found that she knew fear.


	2. Legolas

**Time frame: **Legolas is a little kid, probably about four.

**A/N:** Congrats! You made it through Chapter 1, which I realize was probably extremely difficult to do if you had never read the Silmarillion. Never fear, that is probably the most "If you haven't read the Silmarillion, nothing herein will make sense" chapter I'll have. And hopefully you enjoyed it nonetheless, if you read it. And if you just skipped over it to get to Legolas, just know that I don't blame you :) Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! LalaithElerrina, Gwen Eruanna, and Crookneck, my many thanks. Remember, this story is fed by reviews. I love them, as do the characters. Many of them are a bit shy, and don't really want their diaries to be posted...Thankfully, Legolas wasn't quite so bashful. But who knows? Mayhaps reviews will be able to convince the others that they do want to post! Most importantly, though, I hope that you enjoy!

* * *

_~Legolas~_

Three-year-old Legolas toddled into his father's magnificent throne room, short legs churning. He dodged between the legs of the courtiers standing there, accidentally bumping into knees and ankles in his rush. More than one elf that dayc bored and exhausted from standing for all the many hours required of the council hearings, were interrupted from their tedious musings only to look down and catch a glimpse of white-blonde hair darting past at knee height.

The crown prince clambered up onto the dais unimpeded, the guards watching him with amusement and letting him pass unquestioned. As soon as he had reached the top of the platform, Legolas was dashing toward his father's throne.

Thranduil, shocked to see his son - who was supposed to be safely in his nurse's care - automatically bent to scoop up his wayward child, what he had been in the midst of saying dying on his lips.

To Thranduil's surprise, Legolas twisted, neatly evading his father's hands and squirming beneath his father's throne.  
Now truly worried, Thranduil leaned over and peered into the space between the legs, unconscious of the fact that the entire hall was watching the dais with more interest than had been garnered all day.

"Legolas? My son? Are you well?" Thranduil asked worriedly.

"Shhhhh..." The child's frantic shushing rang through the entire cavern, as did his next words. "You'll give me away Ada," he whispered reproachfully.

"Give you away? To who...?"

"To the goblins!" Legolas replied in earnest.

"Goblins?" Thranduil asked, still at a loss.

"Yeeessssss..."

"And what-" Thranduil was cut off as a frantic looking elleth dashed into the Throne Room, eyes wide and chest heaving as if she had been running.

A high pitched squeal issued from beneath the Elvenking's throne, and an instant later, a small, blonde-haired elfling darted out from the safety of the small space, all the while screeching "SHE FOUND ME, SHE FOUND ME!"

The elleth skid to a halt before the dais, her eyes following the path of her retreating charge before snapping back to look at her king.

"My lord," she gasped.

Thranduil lifted a hand, silencing her, a small smile gracing his lips. He canted his head to one side in the general direction that his son had taken.

"You may wish to go after him," the Elvenking grinned, "Else your elfling lunch will escape." A panicked squeak issued from somewhere at the back of the hall.  
The nurse blushed but smiled, curtsied respectfully, and then turning she took off after the young prince, growling and screeching nonsense words as she went.

Silence fell as the two escaped the throne room, and for a long moment no one moved.

"Well," Thranduil announced, bringing his hands together, "Shall we continue?"

Somehow, the rest of the hearing did not seem quite so long or painful.


	3. Tom Bombadil

**Disclaimer: **Nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings belongs to me. The song does, however, so no stealing it! (although it's not like I'll ever use it for anything else. I'm just...very proud of it, and wanted to point out that I wrote it, and didn't mooch it off of anyone)

**Time frame:** Honestly...not really sure. Late(ish) Third Age probably.

**A/N:** I am such a bad author. Such a bad, terrible, horrible, horrendous author. I am so, so very sorry. I had intended to update this like two weeks ago, but then I got distracted by Poisoned Star, and completely spaced it. And then even more than that, I haven't replied to a single review for the past chapter. Elbereth, I'm a horrible author. I'm sorry :/ To make it up to you all, next chapter will be uploaded on Friday, regardless of reviews, or interest, or whatnot (Although that doesn't mean reviews wouldn't brighten my day a ton (and these next two days will need some brightening, I'm afraid)), and review replies are on their way. Hopefully. More than anything though, I hope that you enjoy - and can forgive this silly, spacey, (bad) author for her bad time management.

* * *

_~Tom Bombadil~_

It had started out just as every other day for the past millennia had. Rising to greet the rising sun, he had taken his vibrant blue coat down from the peg and pulled it on, slipped his feet into his startlingly yellow boots, kissed Goldberry upon the cheek, and then had traipsed out into the dewy morning, a new rhyme on the tip of his tongue and five new tunes playing in his ears.

The sun was especially bright that morning, with nary a cloud marring the pristine blue. The birds were chirruping and caroling to their utmost extent, puffing out their breasts and ruffling their wings. Before he could stop himself, a song burst from his lips, the words tumbling out of their own accord as his tune matched the birds'.

"Ah ho ho yo ho  
Birds all 'round me sing  
Ah ho ho yo ho  
Singing summer's dream  
Ah ho ho yo ho ho!"

A laugh followed the final "ho!" the clear peal of mirth ringing out through the trees and echoing to the clear blue heavens.

As the laughter died away, however, the forest grew still and silent as even the birds ceasing their cheerful trills. The trees stood frozen, not even their leaves trembling in greeting as Tom Bombadil passed beneath their boughs.

A wild whinny pierced the stillness, and the sound of something large and heavy crashing through the underbrush followed an instant later. Tom Bombadil turned toward the source of the sound, hooking one thumb in his coat pocket, and peering into the shadows pooled along the forest floor.

The undergrowth parted, revealing a panicked gray pony, the whites of his eyes visible and his nostrils flared. When he saw the strange little being standing calmly before him, he reared and twisted, throwing his head back and forth and sending froth flying from his mouth. For an instant he looked as if he intended to whip around the colorful man – or perhaps merely charge straight through – yet in the same moment, it seemed as if there was something that halted him.

Tom Bombadil stepped towards the frightened beast, a calming whistle playing from his lips. The pony landed solidly on all four hooves and pricked his ears, listening to the cheerful, yet comforting tune that came from the strange little man. And as the strange little man neared him, the pony stayed still, head thrown high and nostrils still flared, his legs braced and ready for flight.

"Easy there wild one," Tom Bombadil whistled. "What is it that has gotten you so frightened and riled up this beautiful summer morning?" The pony refused to answer, but merely stood and watched the strange little man, listening to his whistles and his words.

The strange little man was at his head now, and the pony lowered his nose just enough to sniff at the man's proffered hand. As if by magic, a tiny sliver of apple suddenly appeared in the man's palm, and the pony hesitated only a second before reaching down a little further and lipped it up.

"Silly little wild thing," Tom Bombadil whistled. "But here now, you are safe with me, although I do wonder what Goldberry will have to say about you." The funny little man with the apple slice grinned, and let loose a lively run of notes, up and down then up again.

"Now then, what is your name?" the strange little man asked, and offered another slice of apple. The pony reached down – without hesitation this time – and crunched it up. Tom Bombadil laughed.

"Of course!" he cried. "Fatty Lumpkin is you, and you are Fatty Lumpkin!" And he offered the oddly named pony another slice of apple.


	4. Griknash the Orc

**Time frame:** Third Age, unspecified year

**A/N:** Holy crap guys, I am SO sorry. I was thinking about updating all day yesterday, and then I went over to a guy friend's house to watch The Walking Dead, and when I got home my family and I watched The Hunger Games, and then I went to bed, and all in all I just COMPLETELY forgot all about it. I am so so so so sorry! But here, I'm posting now. And because I feel so bad, I'll upload the next one on Monday ('cause I don't have school), regardless of reviews, etc. I would, of course, still love to get feedback on this, telling me what you like and what you don't, etc. HUGE thanks to all of my reviewers from last chapter. You all really cheered me up, and kept me wanting to plug away through the...trying week that I had. I know I haven't replied to reviews yet, but I've been amassing a huge backlog, and as it grows I get more and more daunted and put it off farther and farther. But don't worry, I WILL be getting to them, and hopefully this weekend, since I have an extra day off. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy! And don't forget, review :)

* * *

_~Griknash the Orc~_

"Oy, you filthy piece of maggot-bread, that's my dagger yer 'olding!" Griknash looked up with a sneer, and tightened his hold on the dagger hilt.

"I foun' it, it's mine," Griknash hissed, baring his teeth at the challenger.

"I'was my blade that killed da elf in da first place, so it shoul'be mine!" the other orc screeched and advanced another step.

"Finders keepers," chortled Griknash, and he stood so that he was on an even level with the perpetrator. "Now back off, afore I use de blade on yer ugly throat."

The other orc made a lunge for the dagger, his fingers closing around the blade before Griknash could pull it out of the way. The other orc attempted to wrest the hilt from Griknash's hands, but Griknash merely tightened his hold and yanked savagely.

Three of the other orc's fingers fell to the ground with a wet plop, and black blood gushed from the severed stumps. The other orc howled and staggered backwards, clutching his mutilated hand to his chest.

Griknash grumbled to himself. Now there was blood on his shiny new toy, and he had only just finished cleaning it.

Ignoring the sobbing orc still nursing his injured hand, Griknash stalked out of the small hut, licking the blood from the curved blade. He smacked his lips. Now all he needed was a good strong drink…yes, that would be nice…He set off toward the fire pit, hoping that there would be both meaty food, good drink, and bloody entertainment available.

Of course, with the ambush having been successful, all three should be in high supply, at least for one night…


	5. Galadriel

**Time frame:** Beginning of the Fourth Age of Men in Middle-earth, also known as when Galadriel, Gandalf, Elrond, Frodo, and Bilbo set sail for Valinor. This tale takes place just after the ship docks.

**A/N:** As promised, here is the next one! Honestly, the last chapter wasn't my favorite, and not really about a well-known character, so I'm not terribly surprised that there didn't seem to be much interest in it. However, I am kinda hoping that the lack of response to last chapter isn't an indicator that people are losing interest! On the contrary, this chapter is one that I've been wanting to write for _ages_ and will probably show up again in my other writings (eventually), although those will be focused on Elrond and Celebrian's part of the story, rather than Galadriel's. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, and I would positively LOVE it if you review! I'm tempted to go back to my blackmailing method of attempting to get you all to review...but I won't, so I'm just gonna ask nicely. Please :)? Haha, alright. I'll let you read now. Enjoy!

* * *

**Translation:**

Perian: Hobbits

* * *

_~Galadriel~_

Galadriel stepped from the gangplank and onto the quay, her long dress rustling about her bare feet. Behind her, she could sense Gandalf standing on the deck, waiting for the two perian to join him and accompany him down to the wharf, and all around she could hear the bustle of the docks as ships were unloaded and cargo carefully stacked and marked. Gulls called overhead, their raucous cries beating in counter-harmony to the beating of the waves against the shore in the near distance, and accentuating the lilting tones of elves as they called back and forth to each other. The sea breeze, tasting tantalizingly of fresh salt untainted by the scent of rotting fish, drifted lethargically all around, teasing hair and causing the proud pennants and ribbons to flutter to and fro.

But in truth, Galadriel's attention was fixed not upon her surroundings; not the birds, not the breeze, and not even the joyful fëa of the once-Gray Pilgrim behind her as he once again returned to his homeland. No. Her attention was rather upon the two beings standing barely a few paces away, their arms locked around each other in what was surely a painful embrace, their bodies pressed against each other's as if they had become one, and ebony hair tangling with silver.

Celebrían. Her daughter.

Galadriel could have wept with the joy of seeing her daughter, whole and smiling brilliantly as she, for the first time over five hundred years, looked upon her beloved husband. And she could have wept for Elrond as well, his joy already beginning to heal the shattered fragments of his fëa.

She yearned to go to them, to pull her daughter into her embrace and kiss her forehead, to feel for herself that her beloved daughter was no longer the shell, the fragment, of the woman she had been. But she did not. She would not. This time was for them and for them alone. Her daughter would come to find her mother when she was ready, and Galadriel knew that she would be content – knew that she would have to be content. And she was.

Still, though, there seemed to be a part of her soul that was missing, a hole that Galadriel knew that even her daughter would never be able to touch. Celeborn. Suddenly the long years ahead – the years that she knew she would live without Celeborn at her side – seemed to stretch on indefinitely, an eternity far longer than any she ever known. Sorrow and, dare she say despair? washed over her, despair that was wholly at war with the sun and the sky and the very earth itself.

There was a disturbance in the crowd as a tall, fair-haired elf pushing his way through the press of bodies to get to the front. Galadriel did not pay the movement any heed, so lost and alone was she within her own dark thoughts.

Before she could move, before she could even look up, she felt hands on her shoulders, and then on her cheeks, cupping her face. Startled Galadriel looked up, the first tinges of anger brushing against her thoughts. Did this man have no decency?

Whatever harsh words that she may have been thinking died instantly on Galadriel's lips, and for a half of a second she was frozen in place. And then she was flinging herself at the tall elf standing before her.

He caught her and held her close, crushing her in his strong embrace. Her face was buried into his chest, and it was a long moment before she realized that she was sobbing, although whether from joy or from the sudden release of her sorrow she would never know. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. And then he was slowly rubbing soothing circles on her back and smoothing down her hair, crooning softly as they stood there. They were in full view of the crowd, yet Galadriel found that she did not care.

He had always known when she needed him most. When she was hurting, either in body or in heart; when she was angry, or filled with rage; when she was so near to tears that even the smallest smile or frown could have sent her over the edge of despair. He had always been there for her, even unto that final quest that would claim his life. And here he was again…

"I missed you little sister," Finrod whispered, and kissed the top of her head.


End file.
